


Piece of My Soul

by murder_wives



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Golden Compass (2007)
Genre: Daemons, Gen, His Dark Materials - Freeform, Six of Crows, Spirit Animals, The crows get daemons, animals!, dameon - Freeform, no real plot or dialogue just my fluffy ideas, of course kaz is a crow, six of crows more like seven, soul, the crows - Freeform, they just really needed animal soul buds ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 05:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murder_wives/pseuds/murder_wives
Summary: What if the crows had daemons?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 98
Collections: Six of crows





	Piece of My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished rereading Six of Crows, and I’m also watching His Dark Materials and reading The Golden Compass, and so I thought, “What if the crows had daemons?” My thoughts on the matter!
> 
> Also, I noticed after writing this that PastelSlytherin has done a similar work based around the crows’ hypothetical demons, so kudos to them! It’s an excellent piece that you should check out if you like mine. Our ideas on the daemons are very different!

Inej was fourteen when her daemon settled. 

It was after that first awful night at The Menagerie, and Inej was lying in her bed in the dark, trying not to cry and failing miserably. Raj lay curled against her side in the dark, offering what comfort he could in the form of a small sable, when he changed. 

Both of them could feel instantly that this was something different from a normal shift - Raj had settled. Inej sat up, frustratedly wiping away the tears that had oozed down her cheeks in spite of herself, and flipped on the lamp. She turned to find something completely unexpected. Nestled in the warm sheets, Raj had taken the form of a small grayish bat. 

Wondering, Inej cupped his fragile wings carefully in her palms and discovered that Raj had a tiny pink nose and that his delicate wings were tipped with elegant claws. Upon closer inspection, she found that his coloring was a muted silver: in some lights, it caught and flickered beautifully, while in others it faded easily into shadow.  
In his settled form, Raj was first a confidant and comforter; later, in her years as the Wraith, Raj became an extra set of spying eyes in the dark, a flitting ghost across the moon. The Wraith had a shadow, and he was as small and dark and winged as she.

When Nina was eleven, still studying at the Little Palace, Kadasha finally settled. All of Nina’s friend’s daemons had settled weeks ago, and so when Nina felt the change in the dark as she laid down to sleep, she had eagerly turned over and flipped on the lamp. 

She heard the slither of scales on warm fabric, first, before she turned around and saw her daemon. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she whirled to find an elegant python, a dark steel grey-blue in color, draped lazily across her bed. Nina had had to stifle a gasp; Kadasha was easily the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

They soon discovered that Kada’s favorite place to rest was draped across Nina’s shoulders, twining around her neck and through her arms as a gorgeous, muscular, intimidating necklace. The sight often rendered newcomers speechless, a side effect that both Nina and Kada thoroughly enjoyed. Kadasha was beautiful and strong and deadly, and she was perfect. 

No one, Matthias included, was surprised when Trassa settled as a wolf. The great Drüskelle of old time and new had always had wolf daemons, and Matthias planned to be a great Drüskelle. 

One bright winter morning when Matthias was twelve, he awoke to find that Trassa had settled. Her lithe body was a dark, dark brown, almost black, tipped with a gold that matched her eyes. Her voice was music when she howled, and while she could trounce almost any foe in a fight, she loved a good cut of meat and a cuddle at night. She was strange looking, to be sure, and far more affectionate than the daemons of the other Drüskelle, but she was just what Matthias needed.

Wylan was ten when Akos settled. It was before his father had given up on him, and Wylan had been seated in a room with a tutor, fruitlessly attempting to read, when they both felt the change. Wylan looked up in anticipation to find a small bird perched on the window sill - a finch. 

Akos opened his small beak and released a perfect trill, and Wylan had felt a surge of joy. Joy that quickly turned to shame when the tutor began to laugh, to actually laugh, and started to pack his things. He declared that Wylan was hopeless, that he would never amount to anything, that his daemon was a finch, of all things, and that he was leaving.

Wylan never saw another tutor again, but he never again felt ashamed of Akos. Akos brought Wylan hope in his finch form, and the two of them pushed through life together. Never again was the lost son of Jan Van Eck seen without a small, hopeful bird perched on his shoulder, singing quiet songs of strength into Wylan’s ear.

Jesper was seven, younger than most, when his daemon settled. It was the day after his mother had died, the day when they had buried her beneath the cherry tree. His Da and him were both standing there, staring at the freshly turned ground, when they felt the change. 

Jesper turned in time to watch Simon, who had been in the form of a large moth, settle gracefully on the ground and shift into a small rodent - a weasel. Jesper felt his Da’s eyes on him as he stooped to pick Simon up, cupping the daemon with reverent hands. He was a reddish, coppery auburn (Jesper would later find it was almost the exact shade of Wylan’s hair), with a cream colored underbelly and bright dark eyes.

“Look, Da, Ma, he’s a weasel!” 

Jesper had turned excitedly to show his parents, only to have it hit him again: his mother was dead. His father’s eyes filled with tears, and Colm laid a heavy hand on Jesper’s shoulder and steered him inside the house. 

Simon wasn’t much use on a jurda farm, but he and Jesper sure had fun. The weasel form was perfect for both of them, and later on on the streets of the Barrel the form was even more suited to them. Simon could slip into Jesper’s vest and stay hidden until he slid out and got a read on the next player’s cards, he could hide behind a leg and then dart out to steal a coin or two, or he could perch blatantly on Jesper’s shoulder, bright dark eyes daring anyone to take them on. 

It became common sense in the Barrel to watch out for a Zemnei sharpshooter with a wicked grin, and especially to watch out for that sharpshooter’s thieving little weasel. 

Kaz was nine, one of the youngest in the Barrel, when Ave settled. It was during the golden age of his life, when Jordie has just gotten a job with the fictitious Jakob Hertzoon. Kaz had spent the day guzzling hot chocolate in a coffee shop that had turned out to be a facade, just another set on the stage. But Kaz hadn’t known that then; that was for the future, for a Kaz that would be shaped and molded and beaten until he was hard as a rock. 

This Kaz was young and innocently, stupidly, hopeful, clutching Jordie’s hand with Ave scuttling round his feet in a form he couldn’t recall - a dog, perhaps? - as they walked home. And then - Kaz remembered this moment like no other before it - Ave had changed. 

He sensed it, vibrating down the cord between them, before he heard the whisper of feathers and felt a heavy weight settle on his shoulder, talons digging in as a wing gently brushed his ear. He was reluctant to turn his head, almost afraid of the representation of himself that he would find there, but he was conscious of the eyes of Jordie resting expectantly on him, and he himself was bursting with an excitement that soon outweighed his fear. 

When he looked, his heart leapt as he saw Ave’s permanent form - a huge, glossy, magnificently imposing crow. Ave has given a pleased squawk at Kaz’s reaction, and Kaz was lost. Ave was magnificent - one of the largest birds he had ever seen, she was a gorgeous iridescent black with elegant wings and wicked claws and beak.

At once beautiful and terrifying, Ave’s form was at first something Kaz could not quite fit into the puzzle of his soul. But within days, Hertzoon has revealed his swindle, and weeks after that Jordie was dead and Kaz was broken. 

That night in the harbor, as Kaz swam clutching his brother’s bloated body and trying not to swallow the foul water that it gave off, Kaz had found the crow in his soul. Ave had circled over his head, the occasional brush of her wing soothing his fraying mind, as she cawed her lament to the whole of Ketterdam. Has Kaz not been so exhausted, he would have joined her in her mourning. As it was, the only lament he could offer himself and Jordie were the tears that slipped silently down his nose to salt Jordie’s bloated flesh. 

When Kaz finally pulled his soaked body out of the harbor and watched the corpse of his brother drift away, Ave had settled on his shoulder and nipped affectionately at his ear. She brought him back to reality.

Kaz joined the Dregs, and as he raised slowly in the ranks and built the gang from the bottom up, Ave protected him. Small and pale and, later on, crippled, Kaz presented a target. And while perfectly capable of fending for himself, not even Kaz could take on a group of ten older boys and escape unharmed. 

Ave lended him an air of morbid mystery; crow daemons were rare, and their human companions tended toward dark greatness. What a pair they made! A lean, pale boy with his dark crow perched on his shoulder, leaning on a cane whose head resembled that of his daemon. Not usually a sight that strikes terror into the hearts of men - but over time, if you saw Kaz Brekker strolling down the street toward you with his cane and his crow, it was advised that you pray to all the saints and Djel for good measure, because chances were you’d be spending the night six feet under. 

Ave and her form became an icon - she became a symbol for the Crow Club, the Slat, Per Haskell, the Dregs, and the gods-damned Kaz Brekker himself. The thugs of the Barrel knew to watch for a dark beak, listen for the thump of a cane, scent rock salt and rasping wings on the wind. 

Watch your back for Dirtyhands and his filthy crow, they said, but in that piece of advice they were wrong - Kaz Brekker never went for your back. He always approached from the front, announced himself with a caw from Ave and a click of his cane, and he always, always, made sure that you saw your death coming.


End file.
